Ghosts
by HauntedCinders
Summary: Hermione didn't ask for any of this to happen. She didn't ask to meet the man with the haunted eyes. She didn't ask to stupefy him in the street and she certainly didn't ask for what followed after...
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing except for my imagination.**

* * *

The first time that she saw him was when she had been heading home from work. The breeze had been bitter, holding promises of an icy winter, and the sun had set long ago. Stars had littered the inky sky and Hermione remembered staring up at it in appreciation.

Clear nights were so rare.

It had been the stare that had attracted her gaze to him. She had felt it pierce her clothes and bore into her skin and Hermione had turned, painstakingly slowly, to face whatever it was that had the audacity to do so. A mere second later, she wished that she hadn't.

He had been standing only meters behind her, bright, cold eyes glaring at her from underneath the brim of his scruffy cap, oily hair hanging in limp, split strands around his face. His jeans were old, worn and ripped and the t-shirt that he was wearing was threadbare. The jacket wasn't much better. But it was the eyes that really caught her off guard. They were so full of pain and wretchedness and longing. It was a look, Hermione had recognised dimly, that she too had once worn many years ago. It was a look that she had never wanted to see again.

Hermione had felt her heart beat a little bit faster and she had abruptly turned back around, stalking rapidly away from him. Her wand had been heavy in her pocket, almost as though it could feel the tension around itself build, as the clicking of Hermione's heels against the pavement cut through the haunted silence. If it came to a confrontation, she remembered deciding, slipping her hand into her pocket and gripping the handle of her wand tightly, she would at least be prepared. It wouldn't be the first time that she had dealt with stragglers on this street and it wouldn't be the last either.

She had almost expected the man to follow her, to yell at her, to slur drunkenly at her, to attempt to talk to her, but almost surprisingly, he hadn't. Hermione had berated herself for stereotyping him. She didn't know his situation, she didn't know him, so how could she be one to judge? Besides, it wasn't though he had done anything. Nonetheless, Hermione had felt his disconcerting stare all the way until she turned the corner that led into her street. She had breathed a sigh of relief as she finally left his line of sight and spent a small minute collecting herself before walking onwards.

She didn't think that she'd see him again.

After all, she had no reason to think that she ever would.

* * *

The concrete path was disgustingly familiar as Hermione walked down the same street from her apparition point and she found herself glaring at the ugly, derelict buildings in scorn. Why had she chosen such an ugly place to live? She could have chosen any place in all of England, yet here she was in a sleepy, old town where the general idea of excitement was one neighbour not speaking to another. The only upside, she decided in irritation as she glared at one of nosy neighbours who was peaking rather conspicuously out of their window, was that it was cheap. And at least her place was cosy, in its own special way. An amused smile twisted its way onto her lips as she remembered the reactions of Harry and Ron when they had first entered her humble little dwelling. They had been – there was no better word to describe it – horrified and Hermione would have been offended had it not been so utterly amusing.

"What the hell is this?" Ron had exclaimed loudly, who had just bought himself a nice large house.

"Are you sure that this is what you want?" Harry had added carefully, who had just moved back into the Potter Mansion.

Hermione had simply nodded and beamed at them, grinning stupidly at the sofas with the ancient print and the old cupboards that spoke of hidden stories, rattling off information about the town that she had selected as her new home. The church, she had told them, had been standing for many years and the stone library was still, despite many restorations, intact.

Over time, she had learnt the various ins and outs of the town and had welcomed them, eventually finding humour even in the annoying pettiness of the families that lived around her. There was a beautiful kind of normalcy in a Muggle town that a Wizarding estate would never have been able to provide her with and every day, Hermione grew more and more relieved that she had chosen the place that she had. It was quiet, secluded, and gave her the privacy and the separation that she needed. Even Harry and Ron had ultimately accepted her decision and left her in peace about her living choices, but she still saw them shoot each other sidelong glances whenever they came over for dinner when they thought that she wasn't looking.

She supposed that she could understand their earlier concern, as she huddled further into the warm fabric of her scarf, a cold gust of wind shivering its way through her body, but it had been years since she had moved here. In other words, plenty of time had passed for them to get over their little protective streak. Surely they could cut her-

She stopped in her tracks, a gust of wind buffeting her and ignored the obnoxious hairs that flapped in her face, too concentrated to notice. There was that feeling again, the feeling that she had had for the last three days.

Someone was watching her.

Swallowing hard, Hermione whipped around on her heel and glared determinedly behind her, her eyes passing over each careful detail. The black road was silent in the cold moonlight, a breeze blowing the last of the autumn leaves across the tarmac. Rubbish bins had been placed one the curbs, ready for pick up the following morning. Trees stood proudly in the gardens of the homes around her, standing firm against the oncoming storm as their leaves manipulated the entwining shadows, playing havoc on Hermione's senses. Childish laughter and squealing echoed from the Robbins' house, an occurrence that Hermione would have normally welcomed. A bird sang its haunting song in the distance, its sound almost lost in the roar of the wind. Her hair stood on end, her breath now visible in the air, and her heart was beginning to pump blood faster around her body. Despite the threatening weather, everything was quiet, too quiet, and Hermione felt her eyes narrow in trepidation.

But there was nothing there, bar for a few scraps of dilapidated paper and the occasional beetle that scurried across the pavement in a wasted effort to get somewhere warm. It didn't make sense, Hermione thought to herself as she slowly started walking again, her senses hyper alert in the darkness. She flicked a nervous glance around herself, the shadows flickering in the unreliable moonlight, still unconvinced.

There was someone watching her, she was sure of it. A whole year, although it may have been more than eight years ago, of walking around in the middle of nowhere with no one but two friends had given her pretty good instincts for this kind of thing.

The wind buffeted her again and Hermione stumbled slightly, her rapid gait interrupted. She didn't have far to go now, she told herself as she felt the first few drops of icy rain land on her unprotected face, the drops trickling down her flushed skin. And when she got home, she would strengthen her wards and make herself a nice warm cup of tea. She still had that slice cake to eat as well, the red velvet one that had been given to her in celebration of Miranda's birthday and she smiled to herself. A piece of cake always made everything better and it was very well known that Miranda was one of the best cook's on the floor for the Department of Mysteries. She found herself walking even faster, the thought of the home now egging her on and enticing her as the rain began to fall quicker and quicker, large drops splattering against the concrete.

But the sound of a pebble clattering against the pavement made her stop her furious pace once again and her feeling of foreboding reached new heights. A horribly unfamiliar sound clicked in her ear, yet Hermione somehow knew what it was.

She had seen enough movies with her parents in the summers long past to know exactly what that sound was.

Adrenaline flooded her veins and she spun around on her heel, one of her hands clenched into fists as she swung at the man who was standing behind her, but his words made her freeze midway.

"I wouldn't," was all he said, the barrel of the gun placed threateningly near her head.

It was the man from the other week, Hermione recognised haphazardly, her breath catching in her chest. It was the man with the worn clothes and the icy blue eyes that spoke of confused terror and grim determination, eyes that revealed so much yet so little.

"What do you want?" Hermione said, her voice flat in the now thunderous rain. She could feel the water slip down the collar of her coat and run tantalisingly down the bare skin of her back and she fought back a shiver as she slowly lowered her clenched hand. The stare of the man followed it right down to her hip before glaring at her once again. He had, Hermione noted with some relief, completely disregarded the fact that she could be armed. That she could possibly an even greater threat than he currently believed he was. "Do you want money? Because I don't have any."

"I don't want your money."

Interesting. He was American. What was an American doing in a frumpy little town like this? Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to know and she found her hand inching closer and closer to her jacket pocket, praying, hoping that he wouldn't notice her minute movements. "Then what do you want?" she challenged. "I can't give you anything. I don't have anything."

"You can give me whatever's in your pocket," he snarled, his face twisting into a vicious grimace. "Or you'll regret it."

"I don't have anything in there," Hermione lied lightly, her eyes trained on him. "Just a packet of tissues. My nose is running something awful because of this rain."

But he held his left hand out expectantly, his expression unyielding and Hermione knew that he hadn't bought her otherwise flimsy lie. "Give it to me."

The next few seconds went very quickly. There was a leap, a flash of silver, the sound of the gun going off – its explosion muffled in the thundering storm – and a scuffle that ended in a shout and a burst of red light. Hermione couldn't remember the exact details, her heart thumping too loudly and her breaths coming too quickly for her to recall exactly how she had ended up with an unconscious man laying on the ground in front of her feet. But all that really mattered, she thought grimly, as rain freely permeated her now completely sodden clothes, was that he was no longer a threat.

But he could be a threat to others and Hermione refused to have him wandering any more around the town that he had obviously been stalking for at least the last week. What if it had been old Mr Dirrows he targeted next or even worst, little Emily Geril and her twin brother, Jeremy? She set her lips in a firm scowl, glancing cautiously around herself before levitating him off of the ground and disillusioning him just to make sure.

She would call the Muggle authorities in the morning and by this time tomorrow evening, she wouldn't have to worry about him any more.

He would only be a memory.

* * *

 **Welcome to my new story! I'm excited to write this one and see what happens to it! And yes, it will be tying into Civil War, but seeing as I'll be updating this after my exams have ended, you guys have nothing to worry about in terms of spoilers.**

 **Also, this also has no connection to my other story, _Gelassenheit_ , whatsoever. **

**For my writing timetable, please see my profile. But if you don't want to do that, then please take note that I normally update on a weekly basis. However, because my exams begin on the 2nd of May, I will not be updating this again until the 21st of May at the very earliest. But when I do, then it shall be weekly!**

 **Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this and if you spotted any mistakes or anything like that, then please don't hesitate to message me.**

 **I hope that you all have a great few weeks and if you have exams, then I feel your pain and I wish you all the best!**

 **HauntedCinders**


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoiler alert for Captain America: Civil War.**

* * *

Hermione flicked her wand at the door to the guest room and sighed in relief when it shut with a loud squelching sound. There was only a small possibility that the man could possibly escape from the restraints that she had conjured, but she wasn't going to take any chances by leaving the door unlocked and unguarded. Placing her wand in the waistband of her jeans, she padded lightly down the stairs and winced when a peal of thunder echoed throughout the house, the rain splattering against the windows.

As a kid, she had loved storms. She had loved the lightning and the trembles that had rocked the sky. She had loved the wind and the power that it had brought, but these days, she preferred to stay uneasily inside, watching the rain instead of being under it. But she figured that she had the right to do so. She had seen enough storms to last her a lifetime.

With a sigh, she entered the kitchen and switched on the kettle, leaning against the granite bench as she waited for the water to boil. Who was he? A criminal? The idea wasn't so far-fetched, especially seeing as he had a gun, a gun that she had placed in one of the magically locked drawers in her bedroom. Maybe he was just desperate, although for what, Hermione couldn't say. The memory of his eyes flickered through her mind and she shivered slightly, drawing her loose cardigan closer to her body. Merlin, those eyes… It made her wonder what he had seen, what he had done, to deserve those haunted blue orbs. They reminded her of times long past, times when her world had been a much darker, more dangerous one.

Her friends used to have eyes like that, she realised. Harry especially. Even now, despite his happiness and the beginnings of a family with Ginny, his green eyes still glinted with grief, with an unspoken burden that had yet to be fully shed. Had she had eyes like that? Maybe she had. Maybe she still did. Maybe she had lost them to the unforgiving nature that was time. But Hermione liked to think that it had been long enough after the war for her to no longer worry when she left the house, no longer anticipate a hooded shadow creeping around the next corner. She liked to think that her eyes didn't look like that.

A whistling sound filled the small, homey kitchen and Hermione jumped slightly, before realising that it had just been the kettle. It must be that man, she thought reproachfully as she poured the hot water into a mug, dunking her teabag – rosehip – into it. The man had her on edge, but strangely, the feeling wasn't as foreign and despised as she thought it would be. Her tea finished, she forced herself not to concentrate on him and she ambled to the fridge, taking out the slice of Miranda's red velvet cake and deciding to sit in her comfy armchair to enjoy, as much as she was able, the rest of her evening. He'll be gone in the morning, she assured herself. The Muggle police will be able to take care of him.

As she sat down, she chuckled to herself wryly. Harry and Ron would have a fit if they knew who she was playing host to tonight – a potential murderer who had threatened her at gunpoint. She flicked on the television, allowing her thoughts to wander. That was another thing that Harry and Ron had wondered about, come to think of it.

The television. Ron was still confused by it and Harry almost more so. Why would you need a television, a laptop, a phone when you lived in a society like theirs? That was the point that they had argued when she had bought it, but Hermione hadn't budged as she registered herself for Internet and a telephone number. She might not need any of those things anymore, but Hermione liked to stay in touch with her Muggle side. Besides, her parents had always loved watching television in the evenings to wind down and the Internet was more than a little bit useful at times.

The sound of the news filled the room and Hermione let herself be distracted by the images of the football player Lucas Tranders – it was his latest scuffle with the referee that had everybody talking – and the weather that was headed her way tomorrow – cloudy with a chance of rain.

But it was then that the repetitiveness of the broadcast stopped, a fact that had Hermione tuning in involuntarily. Had the line-up changed? Maybe it had and Hermione hadn't noticed or…

"We would like to interrupt this program to inform you of a potential suspect that is said to be the cause of the bombing that occurred in Vienna earlier today. The bombing happened during the course of an important UN meeting that was supposed to outline and approve the effects of the newly instated Sokovia Accords. The meeting was supposed to be a game changer for the powered individuals of this world," Hermione snorted at this, "but was horrifically disrupted when an explosion, injuring at least seventy people and killing twelve, including the King of Wakanda, disturbed the proceedings. The suspect, officials say, at the root of this horrendous tragedy, is said to be James Buchanan Barnes, a highly trained – some would even say 'enhanced' – HYDRA assassin that went missing after the S.H.I.E.L.D. debacle two years ago. If you have seen a man matching this description, then please call…"

She stopped listening as they zoomed in on the grainy picture that appeared on the screen, her eyes flicking over the image. A man with long, greasy hair was standing surrounded by people, a cap forced on his head and his hands buried in his pockets. His face was shadowed but…

She felt her blood run cold. _He_ had long hair like that, dark stubble on his chin. He even had a similar jacket to the one that the man in the picture was wearing. Her mind rationally told her that there was no way that it could be him. There were billions of people on the planet and the chance of she picking up the current most wanted individual in the world was extremely slim. At least that's what she told herself, before she couldn't take it anymore.

Her mug of tea fell to the floor as she leapt to her feet, her wand already in her hand. She didn't even hear the sound of the glass smashing and breaking, see hot water spilling over the carpet in her haste. Taking the stairs two at a time, Hermione arrived in front of the doorway that led into the guest bedroom. Her stunning spell had been strong enough for Hermione to think that he would be unconscious for at least four hours, but if this man was one of those enhanced Muggles, an assassin at that, then Hermione couldn't take any chances. Thinking that this could potentially be the stupidest thing that she'd ever done, she removed the locking charm that she had placed on the room and cautiously opened the door.

The relief was almost debilitating when she saw that the man was still unconscious and she found herself comparing the image of him on the bed to the one that she had seen on the television. Long dark hair. Dark stubble. Dirty brown jacket. Backpack that she had placed at the foot of his bed.

She held her breath. It was him.

It had to be him. The similarity was too strong for it not to be. Hermione started to hyperventilate. How was it that he had ended up here? In her house? The chances were minimal!

She swallowed hard and slammed the door behind her, retreating as rapidly as she was able. Muttering the incantation under her breath, the door shut once again with the comforting 'squelch' sound. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she raced down the stairs and to her phone, glancing at the TV for the number that was still flashing on the screen. But she paused, her hand hovering over the numbers.

If she did this, then there was no going back. They would want to know why he had come here, how she had taken him out. Maybe she would even become a suspect. There would be questions, a lot of questions. And then… what if she were wrong? What if the man upstairs wasn't this James Buchanan Barnes. Shakily, Hermione put the phone back down. It was too much of a risk. If she wanted to call the police, then she was going to have to be sure – 100% certain – that it really was him.

For a moment, after she had placed the phone back down, Hermione simply stood in the centre of the small lounge room. The tea was still on the floor, staining the carpet, and shards of porcelain were scattered near the chair. The television was still blaring and outside, the storm was beginning to come even more severe as another bolt of thunder caused the little trinkets on her cupboard to shake.

What should she do? Or perhaps, the more correct question was, what _could_ she do? The man upstairs was almost certainly the enhanced assassin that they were looking for and she groaned in frustration. Merlin, why did things like this – unexpected things – always happen to her? Surely she had suffered enough in her short life for the universe to just give her one shot of staying out of trouble? But then and again, she wouldn't really change anything either. Especially not when this was the first sign of excitement that she'd had in months.

Sighing, she rubbed buried her face in her hands, wondering what on earth she was going to do now. Besides, what did one do when something like this happened? She scowled to herself. Someone should write a book on the subject. Maybe that's what she would do once she had figured out this whole mess.

The answer occurred to her so suddenly that she wouldn't believe that she hadn't seen it before and she paused in her frantic movements.

She would research him. She had a laptop. Surely there would be pictures of him on the Internet. Surely there would be information about him on the Internet and so Hermione stalked to the counter and grabbed the elegant device, switching it on as she sat herself down on the kitchen floor – her other favourite spot to sit was still a mess. Her fingers twitched as she impatiently waited for it to start up and muttered a, "Yes!" under her breath when the welcome screen appeared.

It didn't take her very long to find him. Not when he had been accused of starting an international incident. The first few articles that she scrolled through all mentioned him as an assassin, as a dangerous person that must be put away at all costs, but there was nothing on the man himself, barely any pictures except the same, repeated grainy image that they had shown on the television.

And then she saw it, a small sentence stating at how James Buchanan Barnes had been a war hero. Further searching had her find out that he had been one of 'Captain America's most trusted and valued friends' and had 'saved countless lives during the war' as he had been a part of the famous Howling Commandos. The articles went on to question why Barnes, who had once been a honourable man, had transitioned into the dark shadow that he appeared to be today. They asked what had happened, what had allowed him to survive, his motives as to why he could have possibly bombed the UN meeting in Vienna.

But Hermione didn't really care about any of that. Instead, She focused on the lines of him being a war hero. With Captain America. Hermione gulped. She had learned about Captain America during primary school when she had to do a small project on the Second World War in her fifth grade class and she remembered how big of a deal it had been when he had been discovered – alive no less. It had been three years after the war and she remembered how the even the Wizarding world had gone ballistic, calling magic into question as a reason for his unprecedented survival. They had calmed down in a matter of days, wondering when Muggles had gotten so smart, and had eventually forgotten about the whole thing. Or at least, they had until aliens had invaded New York and then London soon after. And then, last year, there had been that incident with Sokovia, another situation that had brought the Wizarding world into uproar at the discovery of a brunette whose powers rivalled even the most powerful wizards and witches. Hermione still didn't know how the Ministry had calmed that whole mess down. Shaking her head, she turned her gaze back to the screen, flicking through the pages and pages of almost entirely redundant information.

But that's when things got interesting.

About an hour and a half into her online search, she came across an old, buried article that mentioned brainwashing, that showed horrific pictures, pictures that showed James Barnes before – a handsome solider, a confident smirk on his lips – and James Barnes after – a brutal man with a brutal metal arm. A metal arm, she gulped. She could use that in identifying him, she thought briefly, before she bent over the laptop, her eyes devouring every word as she attempted to answer at least some of the questions that had been posed in previous articles.

It was some time later that Hermione, for the third time that evening, walked into the guest room, her wand held out in front of her as she surveyed the still unconscious body on the bed. Slowly, quietly, she walked up to him, her eyes trained on his face. She supposed that, even now, she could see the resemblance of the man that lay on the bed with the man in the pictures. Stepping lightly over to his side, she began to raise his left sleeve, the glove extending further up his arm than she had anticipated. The material moved thickly, but Hermione didn't dare to move any faster lest he wake up. Sure, he was secured to the bed, but if he was as good as that one article claimed he was, then she was quite sure that he would be able to cut through the bonds like butter.

The glint of silver caught her eye and Hermione felt her heart drop. So, she had been right. It really was him. The Winter Soldier. Dropping the sleeve, she edged away from him, breathing as silently as she dared. She felt like she was in a room with a ticking bomb, and in a way, she supposed, she was. It didn't even take her five seconds before she was out the door, sighing in relief.

* * *

The following morning, Hermione sent an owl to the ministry, informing them that she was taking a sick day. Having had barely an hour's sleep, she was exhausted and in absolutely no condition for work anyway; the stress and worry had made her unable to close her eyes. But who could blame her for that? She hadn't had to deal with anything like this in years and to say that she was unused – but not entirely unwelcome – to it was a total understatement.

Rubbing her eyes blearily, she stumbled into the kitchen. After she had discovered that the man upstairs really was the most feared assassin of all time, Hermione hadn't known what to do. She hadn't known whether to call the police immediately – an idea that she had quickly dismissed – or… attempt to contact someone else.

She had gone with the latter and it was another reason as to why she hadn't gone to sleep; she had been researching all of the possible people who could have a potential connection to James Barnes. She had started off with researching Steve Rogers and had even gotten as far as typing the number for his fan service into her telephone, before deciding that it would have been just a waste of time anyway. How did you contact the man that everyone knew but no one could get a hold of? Hermione didn't know, hence why she had looked up Margaret 'Peggy' Carter instead, a name, along with Rogers and Barnes, that some of the history articles had frequently mentioned.

It was safe to say that she had had a lot more luck in that department than the others. She had managed, without searching too hard, come across the names of children, grandchildren, and other relatives, all of which could allow her to establish a connection to the super soldier and had even managed to find some of their numbers. She didn't know whether they would work, but it was better than nothing and, if she were honest with herself, she would much rather call one of them compared to the police.

Why?

Because she found herself sympathising with Bucky's story. From Ginny, from Harry… Hermione had managed to understand that mind control was horrifically nasty and having watched someone experience it firsthand, she guessed that everything that Bucky had done, good and bad, hadn't been of his own free will. Because that was how mind control worked. It was like a drain, sucking up all of your determination, all of your resolve, allowing you to fall into a bleak darkness. And you could do nothing to combat the effects. That was, at least, how Ginny had described it. And so, perhaps somewhat idiotically, Hermione had taken it upon herself to try and contact someone who could get this man what he needed, which was help and support.

She knew that she should have phoned the police immediately. She wasn't stupid. But that didn't mean that she wasn't going to give this broken shell of a man a chance.

Sitting down on one of the chairs that surrounded the bench, Hermione opened her laptop, which was very close to running out of battery for the first time since that she had bought it over a year ago. She opened the page that she had saved earlier, the page with all of the numbers. What would she say when she called one of these? Maybe she could pretend to be a reporter, asking after Peggy's recent death, as it had been all over British media. But she felt her stomach twist at the thought. Not only would that be a horribly insensitive thing to do, but it would also serve as a reason to be hung up on barely a second later. No, that was a bad, terrible idea.

Maybe she could see if she could try and contact the blonde woman who had spoken at the funeral, the woman who had been photographed speaking with Captain America after the ceremony? What was the name that the article had referenced again? Karen? Sharon? Hermione shrugged. It would come to her later. She didn't know if the woman was related to Peggy, but she seemed as good a lead as any. It was too bad that a quick Google search came up with absolutely nothing.

She sighed, reached for her phone and without second-guessing herself any further, typed in the first number on the page. It belonged to a Mrs Anna Carter, one of Peggy's children, and according to the details on the page, had two daughters, Emma and… _Sharon_. Sharon Carter. Well, that had been unexpected. Now she had to definitely call this number. While no information had been given about the two daughters, perhaps Anna Carter could provide some information anyway. She didn't have any longer to think about it as the line clicked through and a woman's voice ran wearily through the phone.

"Hello?"

Hermione swallowed hard, her fingers tightening nervously around her chunky phone. "Um, hi. My name's Sarah. I'm one of Sharon's friends?"

The lady's voice became suspicious. "Sharon's friends?"

"Yes, I lost her number and I've been meaning to call her about something urgent that cropped up the other day."

She paused. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Sarah."

"Sarah what?" she demanded.

"Sarah Brown." Hermione said the first name that came into her head. They were both common names, right?

"Well, I don't give out her number without knowing the person I'm speaking to first," the lady said tightly, "but can I give her a message?"

"Uh… Can you tell her I've received a package that's meant for a friend of hers?"

"A package meant for a friend of hers?" The woman's voice sounded doubtful.

"…Yes. I don't quite know what to do with it, but I'm quite sure that she'll know. And my condolences, by the way. For Ms Margaret Carter."

There was a heavy pause before a strangled, "Thank you," echoed through the phone. "And, um, where can Sharon pick up your package?"

Hermione hung up the phone, breathing hard. She couldn't believe that she had just done that. Merlin, this was the most excitement that she'd had in years and a part of her, a treacherous little part of her, loved it.

She scowled, forcing the exhilaration back, and hoped that Anna Carter, or maybe even her elusive daughter, would call her back. They may not have good intentions, but she supposed, that if she heard from them, that she would be able to make a better judgement. Besides, it was quite logical to assume that any relation of Peggy's would support Captain America in whatever trouble he had started this time.

* * *

It was a thump from upstairs followed by a furious yell that made Hermione jump, her toast tumbling onto the floor, butter side down. Couldn't she eat a meal in peace without being disturbed or without it falling on the floor and creating a mess? It was a mess that was more than easily cleared away, but still. It was a pain. She bent down to collect her toast, dusting off the crumbs that had landed on it, and pointed her wand at the oily mess that was still sitting on the tiles.

It was only a second later that Hermione realised why she had dropped her toast and she squeaked ungainly, scrambling to her feet, her toast forgotten. So, he had woken up then. She must have hit him with a more brutal stunner than she had originally thought and she felt a tiny prickle of satisfaction. Despite all of these years, she still had it.

The door banged again from upstairs, but this time, Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. She had reinforced the door, the windows, the walls, the floor with numerous charms after reading all that she had managed to find on the Winter Soldier earlier that morning, so there was no hope in hell that he was going to fight his way out of there.

She had just finished her toast when her phone rung and Hermione froze, glancing at the beeping device. Her phone had never rung before. Ever. And so she picked it up slowly, her heart in her chest as her eyes briefly scanned the numbers that appeared on the small screen. It was a foreign number and Hermione hesitantly placed the device close to her ear, hitting the 'accept' button.

"Hello?" She made sure that her voice was confident.

"Miss 'Brown', I assume?"

This voice sounded younger than Anna Carter's and Hermione didn't miss the accentuation that she put on her fake name.

"That would be me."

"I've heard that you've found something that a friend of min's been looking for. A package, you said?"

"You could say that."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not really." Hermione wasn't going to say anything else unless she was sure that Sharon Carter was going to help her.

"I'm assuming that it's a person, am I right, Miss Brown?"

Hermione shrugged. "I assure you Miss Carter, that it's all too easy for me to disappear. And I'll take him with me."

Sharon was silent on the other end of the line. "You do realise that I've already traced this call, right? But," Hermione cold hear the smirk in her voice, "luckily for you, we're in the same boat. I'll be there within two hours. Don't move. Don't leave the house. Don't call anyone. In fact, smash your phone and throw out the pieces. And most importantly, don't get too close." There was a click as the woman hung up and Hermione slowly lowered the phone from her ear with a swallow.

Well, that hadn't gone as she'd originally planned.

* * *

 **Hey everyone!**

 **First of all, I am blown away by the response to this story, so thank you all so much!**  
 **Second, thank you for all of the reviews, favourites, and follows! You're all amazing :)**

 **Right, so now that my exams are over, I shall be updating this regularly on Wednesdays. Every Wednesday, rain or shine, I shall update this story, unless something dramatic happens. (For more info, see my profile.)**

 **To James Birdsong: Thank you for your review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the first chapter!**

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 **To Guest: I hope that your exams went well and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!**

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 **Until this Wednesday, lovely readers!**

 **HauntedCinders**


	3. Chapter 3

**Language in this chapter.**

* * *

Hermione had known, as soon as she called that number, that there would be consequences. She didn't know what kind of consequences there would be – the Muggle world was a very different one to the world that she now called home – but she knew that they wouldn't be good. And it was for that reason why Hermione, approximately two hours later, was now dashing around her house; her worn beaded bag grasped in her hands as she stuffed photographs, clothes, books, and various potions into it.

Because there was no way that she was staying here. No way at all. Of course, like she had told Carter, it would be easily enough for her to disappear. All she had to do was stay within the boundaries of the Wizarding world. She would be able to stay with one of her friends – Ginny and Harry would be more than willing to put her up – floo to work, disapparate from place to place. If she so chose, she would never have to step inside the Muggle world again.

But a part of her didn't want to do that.

Her ties with the Muggle world were too important, too fragile for her to break. Why else had she bought a house in a Muggle town? Why else did she pay for Internet or buy a phone and a computer? Why else had she painstakingly learnt how to use them? She snorted to herself in derision. Nope, there was no way that she was leaving this world behind. Besides, her parents had always made sure that her connection to this one was just as strong as her connection to the magical one and she didn't want that balance to change. They would be so disappointed if it did.

Racing upstairs, Hermione through herself into the corridor and entered her plain bedroom, only taking a moment to take in the soft green carpet and the large window. She probably wouldn't see this room again and she felt strangely regretful at the thought. This place had become so much to her. It meant peace, safety, warmth and now, because of a man who had decided, for no apparent reason, to attack her, she was now going to lose it all. It wasn't fair, she thought childishly as she paced through the room, looking over any final items that she would need to pack; once they got here, she was leaving.

The door to the guest trembled again and Hermione sighed irritably. She was going to have to stun him before they got here as well. May as well do it now, she supposed grimly, and she stepped out into the corridor, rapidly undoing the intricate spells that she had placed on the innocuous piece of wood. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stormed through the door, her wand raised in front of her, only to stop at the wild eyed glare that the man – Bucky or the Winter Soldier or whatever his name was – was giving her.

He looked even more ferocious in the soft early morning light. His face was dirty, his appearance scruffy and unkempt and Hermione saw a sharp glimmer of the metal that was hidden beneath his worn jacket. She swallowed as she saw him, her senses tingling as he strode towards her. Her wand shook ever so slightly in her hand as he approached.

"Who the hell are you?" he hissed, his voice low and vicious.

"No one," Hermione replied blankly, raising her wand slightly higher as she gulped at his size. Great. Now she would have to erase his memory as well and that was something that she absolutely hated doing. "Stupefy."

He dodged the jet of red light.

Hermione found herself ducking as a brutal punch surged towards her. Red filled the room once again and Hermione cursed under her breath as he sank into a crouch, his grimy hair hanging limply in front of his face.

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled again.

"A concerned citizen," Hermione said sweetly, "who's trying to do you a favour." And this time, she twirled her wand delicately, the words of a more difficult, much more potent calming spell coming to mind instead of the stunning charm.

The large pulse of light rippled through the air and Hermione smirked breathlessly as the assassin sank to his knees, the tense lines on his face relaxing, his blue eyes becoming softer. She was quite proud of this spell. Designed to calm large crowds of people or a few particularly distressed witches and wizards, the Calming Charm was a spell that Hermione had designed in the Department of Mysteries. It had been quite helpful in subduing patients, criminals, riots, fans at Quidditch matches, and the best part was, was that it was easy to use and required no force at all.

"What did you do to me?" The harsh rasp of his voice filled the room.

"Do you feel better?" was all Hermione replied, as she stepped closer, holding her wand aloft. Now all she had to do was alter his memories, make sure that he remembered none of the magic that he had come in contact with.

"What are you? _Who_ are you?"

"It doesn't matter," she murmured, beginning to decide on the exact process of spells that she would use. Merlin, she hated erasing memories.

"Who did you call? I know that you called someone. Who was it?"

"People who can help."

He snorted, his blue eye boring into hers. "No one helps in this world. Who did you call?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was halted at the dinging sound that floated through the cosy house.

The doorbell.

Cursing the universe and wishing that she still had that bloody time-turner, Hermione resisted the urge to break something. Why now? Why the bloody hell did they have to come here now? Memory charms took work and time and if she wanted to stay and complete it, well, then she may as well just hand herself over straight away, seeing as she would probably be taken into custody along with him. She looked reluctantly at the mercenary, who was staring at her with a gaze so intense and unreadable that made Hermione shift uncomfortably at the sight of it. She could either leave the magic in his memory – perhaps he would see it as a hallucination – or she could hand herself over.

She snorted to herself barely a second later, her decision made. It wasn't like she had much of a choice, not when one resulted in the exposure of her magic and the other resulted in the exact same thing. The only difference was that she would be behind bars for one of them. With her mind made up, Hermione made to pad out of the room, but his hand – the metal one – closed around her upper arm, gluing her in place. He ripped the wand out of her other hand in her brief moment of surprise and she couldn't refrain a curse from slipping past her lips as it landed on the other side of the room.

Fantastic. Brilliant. Superb. Why had she decided to calm him instead of stun him again? Or freeze him? Or do anything that would have been far more useful?

"Who did you call?"

The spell was wearing off quicker than Hermione had anticipated and she found her breathing speeding up as she tried to twist herself free from the cold that was leaking through her light long-sleeved shirt.

"Miss Granger?" a feminine call echoed through the house.

Oh, bloody hell. That hadn't taken them very long and she turned to the Winter Soldier in newfound desperation. She was not going to be taken in by these people.

"Friends. Your friends," she whispered furiously. "I don't know them. Now let me go or so help me-"

"We're not here to hurt you. We just need you to come out." It was a man's voice this time.

She glared at the unrelenting, intense stare of the Winter Soldier, who was still – only just – too weak to move. Turning her gaze to her discarded wand, she yelled the spell in her mind, willing it to surge into her hands. But it didn't work and she fought the urge to scream. Non-verbal, wandless magic had never come easily to her. She tried again and then again, before her mind forced her to evaluate options that she didn't want to assess. She refused to apparate, not with someone like him. She wouldn't be able to fight him off, not if the stories that she had read about were true. She could use-

Of course.

How had she not thought about it before? And she looked down at her purple beaded bag that she had slung innocently across her shoulder. She smirked.

"What was her name again?" It was another man's voice that echoed up the stairs and Hermione's gaze snapped towards the bedroom door, her breaths becoming quicker and quicker. They were at the base of the stairs. She didn't have long and she thrust her hand into the bag, her hands grasping, reaching for anything that she could use. Her fingers ran over glass bottles, books, trinkets that she had swept from the shelves from downstairs. Where was it?

"What are you doing?" his voice was low in her ear, his grip tightening around her upper arm.

"Hermione Granger. This room's clear." That was obviously Sharon Carter, she realised absently.

"This one's also clear. It's a cute place, you know. For a grandmother. A bit bare, though, don't you think?"

Hermione bristled at the unknown man's comment, her fingers still scrabbling. Many of the things in this house were things that she had taken from her parent's place.

"Almost a little bit too bare." It was another man again – perhaps Steve Rogers – who spoke. "Do you think she took off?"

"Well, if she did, we'll catch up to her," the other one said grimly. "Upstairs?"

There it was and her fingers clasped around the recognisable vile, her fingers detecting the distinct glasswork. She drew it out of the bag and without any hesitation, threw it firmly to the ground. A second later, it shattered.

Darkness erupted.

It flooded the entire room, blocking out all light, all sound, the blackness pressing on her as she used his temporary shock to elbow him in the face, allowing her to slip her arm free. She heard his hiss of dissatisfaction as she crawled on her hands and knees in the direction of her wand and grabbed it in relief, her hands closing around the familiar, well-worn handle. Stumbling to her feet, mildly disorientated under the weight of the darkness.

She heard yells, people thundering up the stairs and she winced as she stubbed one of her still bare feet on a dressing table. Someone entered the guest room.

"Bucky!"

"Where the hell did this come from?"

"We're dealing with an enhanced individual-"

"Has she left?"

"Sam, wait outside."

"Should we call for back up?"

"Make sure that she doesn't leave. We have to take her in."

Hermione attempted to apparate, but she was too distracted, too unsettled for her mind to focus and she only ended up stumbling instead of landing at the wrought iron gate of the Potter Estate. Cursing to herself, Hermione blinked hard and ran to the doorway, flinging herself out of the guest room, her world exploding into a blur of colour and bright light.

She half ran, half fell down the stairs and she could hear someone racing after her, calling her name as she wrenched the front door to the house open. She chuckled to herself as she wondered what she must look like as she entered the street, frazzled and uncoordinated in her loose clothing and bare feet. Her neighbours must be having a field day.

She blinked again, determined to get her bearings under the unsympathetic, morning sunlight as she sprinted towards her apparition point – apparating on the road would simply cause a headache for her and for wizarding authorities. Her breath was harsh in chest and she bemoaned not having done more exercise as her muscles burned under the strain of the pace. Her adrenaline burst would only last so long before she tired out, she recognised fearfully. The thought made her damaged feet pound even harder onto the tarmac.

"Sam!"

"On it!"

She heard them yelling from behind her as Hermione swerved sharply into a small, narrow street that was filled with houses that were still standing from before the Second World War. This had always been one of her favourite streets in the small town and she felt a flicker of regret as she realised that she wasn't going to be able to say goodbye to Mrs Peterson, a kind elderly lady with four cats whom she had gotten to know in the first week that she had started living here.

She would miss the park and the innocent laughing of the children as she walked home in the evenings. She would miss the peace in the small town, the warmth and safety that it had, for many years, provided.

She would miss-

She slammed into a muscled chest, a chest that she swore hadn't been there before, and didn't even feel the needle slide into her neck, her world fading into blackness once again.

* * *

 **Hello!  
I hope that you enjoyed today's update!**

 **First, I seriously want to say that I was blown away by the response to this story. I got home on Monday and my inbox had about 90 emails from this story alone. So, thank you to all of the readers, favourites, follows, and reviews! You're all amazing.  
** **  
To Tinaraven: Thanks for your review! I'm glad that you're enjoying the story and I hope that you liked today's chapter.** **  
**

 **To Guest: Thanks for your support! It makes me happy that you're enjoying the story so far! I hope that you liked today's chapter!**

 **To Raven: Thanks for your kind words! I hope that you enjoyed today's latest chapter!**

 **To Guest: Thanks for the review! I'm glad that you like the beginning of the story and I hope that you liked today's update.**

 **About stuff like language. I put in a warning at the beginning of this chapter, but I won't always remember to do that. While I don't swear a lot in my writing, I will put it in depending on what type of character I'm working with. Someone like Nick Fury, for example, in my opinion, would swear a lot. If you have a problem with this, then please PM me, but please keep in mind that this is a T-rated story for a reason.**

 **Thank you all again and I hope that you all have a lovely week!**

 **Until next Wednesday,**  
 **HauntedCinders**


	4. Chapter 4

The woman – Hermione Granger – Sharon Carter had said, was lying limply on her bed, her hair crumpled in a tangled, knotty mess on the couch. Her hands were tied in front of her body, but they had left her feet unbound. Bucky stared at the unconscious woman in curiosity, wondering why she had tried to run. She must have known that she had nowhere to go, that she would just end up being captured, unless…

Her 'enhancements', he recognised suddenly. Maybe she had been planning to use them. He hadn't told them – Steve and the others – the exact nature of what she could, or what he assumed, she could do. They already suspected, of course, that she was an enhanced after that horrible darkness had filled an entire room. But as for the other aspects of her abilities? Well, they were still oblivious to that information.

He wasn't exactly sure as to why he hadn't told them the other bits yet. Perhaps it had been the vulnerability followed by the stark resolution that had flickered through her eyes as soon as the door to her house had opened and… _they_ had arrived. Perhaps it was selfishness. Maybe it was her quite strength that made him curious or the ferocity that she had shown on that night that she had taken him down. And that was another thing. Enhanced or not, it was damn difficult to take someone as trained and as experienced as him to be knocked out cold. Granted, perhaps he had allowed her to do that, but it was still an achievement regardless.

Maybe that's why he had attacked that woman on the street, he mused dully, still not really knowing why he had pulled a gun out of his bag and raised it to her head. Maybe he had recognised that she would be able to help him. Maybe a part of him had simply just wanted to be found. He didn't know.

With a barely audible sigh, Bucky exited the living room and stepped lightly into the kitchen where the others were waiting and talking quietly amongst themselves. They had decided to stay in the woman's house, believing that it was safer there than somewhere else in England. Bucky couldn't help but agree. Besides, he got the feeling that the others wanted this woman to like them and to trust them.

He was pretty sure that they were going the wrong about the whole matter though. Especially seeing as they had drugged her. And left her on her couch, with her hands bound.

He seriously doubted that Hermione Granger would appreciate their gesture of 'goodwill' and he smirked at the thought. The young woman didn't seem like the type that would put up with being knocked unconscious and he recalled her furious brown eyes, her tension lined body. No, she definitely did not seem like the type that would put up with something like that at all.

"Should we bring her in then? I mean, Steve, it's your call," Sam's voice echoed through the ground floor of the house and Bucky walked absently over to them, his eyes measuring, assessing the three people that were standing in the spotless kitchen. The woman's things, a beaded purple bag and some kind of slim baton, were sitting innocently on the bench. They had tried getting into the bag, had even tried cutting it open, but it had stayed stubbornly closed and Bucky wondered if her enhancement furthered to locking things as well. Perhaps it did, seeing as how she had somehow managed to completely proof and secure the guest room that he had been 'staying' in.

"Bring whom in?" Bucky's voice cut through the conversation.

Steve sighed. "Natasha Romanoff," he murmured. "Knowing her, she's probably already heard that something's up, which reminds me. We're going to have to do something to take care of the neighbours," and all of their heads swivelled comically towards one of the curtained windows. "After all, more than a few of them saw what Sam did in the street, so the cops will either be coming here right now or it'll be all over social media."

Sharon glanced at Steve in slight concern and Bucky smirked inwardly at Steve's faint blush. Since when had that been going on? "You want me to take care of it?"

But Steve was already shaking his head grimly. "No. You've already compromised your position in the CIA by breaking protocol and by being here with us. If you walk out that door, then it won't take much for the authorities to connect the dots."

Sharon sighed in defeat. Her position at the CIA was precarious enough as it was and she needed to be on the inside for this. "Fine. Should we bring Romanoff in then?"

Steve sighed and got to his feet, an irritated expression crossing his face. "I don't know," he muttered. "If we do, she'll report it straight to Stark and Stark is who we're trying to avoid right now, but… We need her, especially if we can get her on our side."

"And what about Granger?" Sam asked, glancing over to the living room, where the woman was still lying. "What are we going to do about her?"

Steve shrugged. "She's an enhanced," he said simply. "And, whether she likes it or not, she's now a vital part of this investigation and we need her to prove Bucky's innocence about Vienna. She needs to be brought in."

Sharon nodded. "I agree. She's an asset."

Bucky froze. _Asset_. He heard the word whisper through his mind, saw the blurred faces of those who uttered it. " _Get the asset_ ," someone yelled. It had been a young man, stubble covering his chin. " _Where's the asset_?" another shouted. It had been a woman that time. He felt his hands clench into fists by his side, ignoring the silence that had fallen over the kitchen.

 _Asset_. He hated that word. He hated everything that it represented – a mindless, unwilling, robot.

But he wasn't that anymore, he reminded himself harshly. He was a human being, albeit a messed up, ruined, shattered human being, with memories, with a past, with friends and he looked to Steve almost desperately. Steve was his friend, he reminded himself. Steve was his best friend. His best friend who had never, not even back on that helicarrier, given up on him.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice was soft and Bucky turned away from him, hating the gentleness in his voice. He didn't deserve gentle.

"Don't call her an asset," was all he growled and he stalked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, staring at the still unconscious brunette as he sat across from her.

She was pretty, he realised dully.

* * *

Hermione awoke with an unwelcome start. It took her a second to get her bearings, but when she did, the dread pounced. It filled her up as she fought to remember those last few seconds just before that wretched needle entered the skin of her neck.

She had been trying to get to her apparition point, she recalled, staring at her tied hands resentfully. She should have just disapparated as soon as her mind was clear, she thought bitterly to herself, regardless of whether or not she had been in the middle of the street. The authorities wouldn't have liked her for it, but it would have been more manageable than this, whatever it was.

"You're awake."

The voice broke through Hermione's swirling thoughts and she almost jumped, her head snapping to the source of the voice. She narrowed her eyes at the dark haired man sitting across from her, his arm glinting menacingly in the light of her living room. She wondered if he'd exposed it deliberately.

"Oh, well done," she muttered, attempting to sit up and blinking as her world tilted dangerously, nausea rising in her stomach. "What the hell did you drug me with?"

"A sedative."

She shot him a look, trying to focus on not losing her breakfast on the carpet. "Enlightening. Where are your friends?"

"Kitchen."

"Well, could you go and get them, because," she frowned, "I need to talk to them and then…" she trailed off, finishing the sentence in her head. She needed to leave.

He stared at her blankly before getting up and leaving Hermione alone in the living room. For a brief moment, as soon as his unnerving stare left her body, Hermione considered apparating away. It was tempting, horribly so, and if she did it, then at least she wouldn't ever have to see these people again or answer any of their dratted questions, but they had her bag. And her wand. She wondered where they had left them.

She sighed, leaning back against the flowery fabric of the sofa and closing her eyes. No, she couldn't leave. Not until she had her bag and her wand safely back in her possession.

Rubbish.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's eyes opened abruptly and she found herself staring at three – the Winter Solider was included – very burly men and one, serious faced woman. Hermione almost laughed at the sight of them. They absolutely did not look like they belonged in her flowery, delicate living room at all.

"So," she said, eyeing them carefully, "are you going to sit down and talk or just awkwardly stand there and say nothing? I don't know about you lot, but I'm a rather busy person and I'd really like to leave and forget this whole thing as soon as possible. And introductions might be helpful too."

"Well, in that case, I'm… I'm Sharon Carter," the woman spoke up first, leaning against an armrest as the others sat down warily.

"Steve Rogers."

"Sam Wilson."

"And I already know who you are," Hermione said reproachfully, staring at the Winter Solider accusingly.

"Did you know who he was when you took him in, though?" Sam's voice was sharp and Hermione's glare was even more so as she replied.

"No. Believe it or not, I had to research him. Trust me, that's why I called all of you, because I knew, as soon as I figured it out, that I wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Should I have? I do have to admit, though, that I very nearly did."

"What stopped you?" Sharon asked her curiously. "Any other person wouldn't have hesitated."

Hermione cleared her throat lightly, the light in her eyes diminishing. "Let's just say that I know a little bit about mind control and how that can affect a person and leave it at that. In other words, I knew that the regular police wouldn't have been able to help. Not to mention, he – you –," she corrected herself, "could have killed me last night and you didn't." She turned her attention to the other three people in the room. "So, will you return my things and let me go now?"

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "You know we can't."

Hermione didn't even blink at his admission. She had expected as much. "Is this about the Vienna incident or what you saw upstairs then?"

"Both. Are you enhanced?"

Hermione smirked. "You could say that," she relented.

"What is it that you do?" Bucky asked, entering the conversation for the first time since everyone had entered her living room, and Hermione stared at him with caution. Out of all of them, he was the one who had seen the most, the most magic. She vaguely wondered whether or not he told the others.

"A little bit of this and a little bit of that. My gift is… unreliable."

"We could help you," Steve offered and Hermione resisted the urge to scoff. "Help you get it under control?"

"I hate to break it to you," she said dryly, amusement tinging her voice, "but I really don't think that that's necessary." She got to her feet and Steve stood up in alarm. She raised an eyebrow at him, glancing pointedly down at her tied hands and her unbound feet, her message clear.

If she managed to walk around a little bit, maybe she would be able to find out where they were keeping her things. "I'm really very sorry, but I refuse to be your bargaining chip. I personally think that there's more than enough evidence to prove your," she gestured to the Winter Solider, "innocence and what's more is the simple fact that I really don't want to go with you. Any of you. My life was actually rather pleasant until all of you came along. Now I'm going to have to uproot myself. Again."

She padded in the direction of the kitchen, aiming to get herself a piece of fruit, but was stopped short as she collided into a solid, metal arm. She turned to glare at the person who owned it and that's when saw them.

Her things, sitting innocently on the counter.

She didn't waste any more time, eager to put the whole nightmare of an incident behind her. She cleared her mind, allowed her body to be wrenched through space and time, and breathed out sharply as she landed in the kitchen, snatching the worn bag from the bench. Her bag was slung around her body barely a second later and her wand was sitting comfortably in her hand, her bonds disintegrating, before any of them had even realised what had happened.

* * *

When Bucky came to about an hour later, it didn't take him very long to realise that none of the other three people in the house knew whom Hermione Granger was. What he did manage to deduce, though, was that Sam, Sharon, and Steve had received a tip off about him that had come in late last night, thus proving his innocence and finally revealing his location.

It wasn't, however, until much, much later that Bucky found a small, folded note on a piece of yellowing paper that had been hidden in the back of his backpack as he was being brought into London.

 _The mind can only be played with so many times before it shatters,_ he read silently. _Yours, as I discovered, is dangerously close to snapping, hence why you still know my name. So, with that in mind, don't come looking for me. Don't tell anyone about me – I will know it, if you do._

 _And finally, don't let that darkness break your mind._

* * *

 **I hope that you all enjoyed this little story of mine!**

 **Thanks for all of the support and love that you guys have given this story. You're all amazing! If any of you see any errors in grammar or anything or have any ideas for situations that you would like to see, then don't hesitate to PM me.**

 **Thank you to all of my guest reviewers: Rose, Jo, Lizzy B, and Guest. Thank you for all of your support and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **I hope that you all have a brilliant week!**

 **HauntedCinders**


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